Scenes from a Stake Out
by blackpearl23456
Summary: Sherlock, John, Lestrade and other members of the police force are on a stake-out in a house together. What happens when the others find out about Sherlock and John's relationship? Warning: SLASH! If anyone has any suggestions please feel free to PM me!
1. Chapter 1

1. In which Lestrade discovers Sherlock and John's relationship

Sherlock audibly groaned as the taxi pulled up to a seemingly deserted house. "Lestrade, remind me again why you roped me into this?"

The Detective Inspector sighed as he paid the cabbie. "It's for a case, Sherlock. You like cases."

"Yes, but this is a case that involves spending an unknown amount of time in a house with yourself, Anderson, Donovan and some other people who I don't know the names of," replied Sherlock, unfolding himself from his seat and climbing elegantly out of the taxi.

"None of the others are particularly thrilled about spending time in a confined place with you either, Sherlock." Lestrade pulled his luggage out of the boot, giving John a hand as he struggled with both his own and Sherlock's bags while Sherlock stood haughtily on the pavement, his coat billowing in the wind.

John shoved Sherlock's bag into the other man's hand and made to follow Lestrade up the path to the stake-out house, but Sherlock latched onto his wrist with his spare hand, causing him to stop and turn so they were facing each other.

"He doesn't know about us." Sherlock spoke quietly.

"I know," replied John. "It's fine. We'll manage." Gently, he pulled his wrist from Sherlock's grip and walked towards the house.

* * *

Sherlock and John had officially been together for just over three weeks. It had all happened quite quickly; they had just returned to Baker Street after a case that involved them chasing a criminal through the streets of London for the best part of half an hour, leaving them exhausted, but high on adrenaline by the time they got home. As they stood in the hallway catching their breath and laughing at the insanity of it all, John had been overcome by a deep desire to hold Sherlock's face in his hands and kiss him until they were both even more breathless than they already were. So that was exactly what he did. The adrenaline of the chase was replaced by shock and then pure joy as Sherlock's hands slid to John's waist and kissed him back. It was wet and it was messy, and it was more teeth and tongues than lips, but it was perfect and had resulted in the two of them falling into bed together.

John's lips curved upwards into a smile at the thought of their first night together; at the absolute trust that Sherlock had placed in him, and the vulnerability that he had seen in his lover's eyes that night. He shook his head to clear the thought; now was not the best time to be thinking of having sex with Sherlock. They were stuck in a house with mostly intolerable people (save for Lestrade, who John actually quite liked), who were completely oblivious to his and Sherlock's relationship. For that reason, they had been given separate rooms, and though neither of them had said anything, John had seen the look of disappointment in Sherlock's icy eyes.

At present, it was just gone half ten at night, and John was sat on his relatively comfortable double bed in his room, flicking aimlessly through that day's newspaper. He'd been staring at the same line of text for a good five minutes when a knock on his door startled him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?" He called, and the door opened, revealing Sherlock standing in the doorway, suit jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up and not wearing any shoes.

"Bored," he said, nudging the door shut with his foot.

John smiled up at him, opening his arms, and Sherlock quickly lay down on the bed with his head resting on John's chest.

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I." John rubbed Sherlock's back absently and tilted his chin up to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock moved then, shifting onto his side and pulling John down with him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along John's lips until he parted them. Then John was kissing him back desperately, his fingers knotting into Sherlock's dark curls, holding him closer, their legs tangling together…

"John, do you know where – bloody hell!" Lestrade barging into the room had them springing apart, like teenagers caught kissing in the school corridor by a teacher. "Well, I was going to ask you if you knew where Sherlock was, but it appears the answer is 'in your room with his tongue down your throat'."

John shifted uncomfortably, sitting up and re-arranging his shirt. Sherlock flopped dramatically back onto the bed, sighing heavily.

"Well there goes keeping that quiet," John muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"How long has this been going on for?" Lestrade asked, leaning back against the door which he had just closed.

"A couple of weeks," John and Sherlock said in unison. They stared at each other and then quickly looked away in an attempt to stifle the fit of laughter that was threatening to overcome them.

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up practically into his hair. "And you're serious about this, are you?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said, sitting up and sliding his hand into John's. John glanced sideways at him and smiled.

"Right," said Lestrade. "Umm. Okay."

"Please don't tell the others, we could really do without them on our backs," John pleaded.

Lestrade nodded his agreement. "Okay, fine. I'll err, leave you two then." With that, he left their room, closing the door with a firm click behind him.

Sherlock and John looked at each other and burst out laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

2. In which Sherlock and John stop hiding

They had been in the stake-out house for three days, and those three days had been absolute hell for Sherlock and John. Sherlock was snappy and irritable and had hardly slept, and John was tired, fed up and finding it increasingly difficult to not stare into Sherlock's eyes, to not run his fingers over those sharply angled cheekbones, to not stare at the frankly delectable curve of his arse.

John pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes closed in an effort to stop thinking about Sherlock. He was sat on the creaky old sofa in the living room, laptop open in his lap, listening to Sherlock tap away on his own laptop at the table just behind the sofa.

A couple of the unnamed police officers had gone out a few hours previous to scout out the area and make sure that they were still safe in their house. Anderson and Donovan had been sent to the local supermarket to buy food for dinner, and Lestrade was sat in the arm chair opposite John, reading over a case file.

"Tea?" John said, mainly out of boredom.

"No thanks," replied Lestrade distractedly.

John stood up, ignoring the fact that Sherlock hadn't responded, and set about making himself and Sherlock a cup of tea. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, Sherlock padded into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around John's waist from behind, pressing a small kiss to the back of his neck. John leant back into the touch; a happy sigh escaping his lips as Sherlock once again lowered his head and kissed his neck.

The kettle boiled and John quickly prepared the two mugs of tea, leaving them steaming on the kitchen counter as he turned around, still encased in Sherlock's arms to kiss him properly. Sherlock's lips parted underneath his, warm and welcoming, and for a minute John forgot that they weren't at home, that they were not alone, and then the front door to the house opened and the sound of chatter and laughter brought him crashing back to reality.

"There's the rest of the gang," John murmured, his hands resting on Sherlock's chest.

"I'm tired of hiding," replied Sherlock, equally as quietly.

"Me too."

They shared a glance that said everything, then John knotted his fingers into Sherlock's hair and pulled him down for another kiss, their lips hot and demanding against each other. Sherlock's hands found their way up John's shirt, running over his chest just as the kitchen door opened and Donovan and Anderson entered.

"Oh my God," Donovan said, her mouth falling open in shock as she struggled to keep hold of the bags of shopping.

"What? Oh." Anderson also froze in the doorway, taking in the sight in front of him.

Lestrade wandered into the kitchen from the living room to see what all the commotion was about, his mouth forming a silent 'oh' as he realised. "Well it didn't take long for you two to crack, did it?" He asked, a smile forming on his lips.

Sherlock and John broke apart, a flush creeping up John's neck at the startled gazes of Anderson and Donovan, and the smirk Lestrade was wearing.

"Couldn't deal with it any more. Lestrade, please can we not have separate bedrooms now?" asked Sherlock, his body remaining pressed flush against John's.

Anderson spluttered slightly and Sherlock shot him a withering look. "Oh please, Anderson, control yourself. We're all adults here."

Lestrade frowned but ultimately agreed, and Sherlock and John both breathed a sigh of relief.


	3. Chapter 3

3. In which Lestrade gives Sherlock and John 'The Talk'

Greg Lestrade awoke to the sound of banging and was immediately alert, his police training instantly kicking in. It took him a few minutes and a lot of frowning to figure out where the banging was coming from: it wasn't gunfire; it wasn't someone knocking at a door… He rubbed his eyes tiredly when he realised the source. Glancing sideways, he saw that it was ten past three in the morning and far too… early? Late? Whatever, it was entirely the wrong time for Sherlock and John to be having sex and causing the headboard of the bed to bang against the wall.

He groaned quietly to himself and pulled a pillow over his head to try and block out the noise, but he needn't have bothered: a couple of minutes and a few stifled cries later and everything went silent. Greg closed his eyes and made a mental note to talk to Sherlock and John in the morning.

* * *

John woke up feeling warm, content and happy and with a very insistent erection pressing into his back. Suppressing a chuckle, he turned slightly and forced his vocal chords to work.

"Morning." His voice was hoarse and rough from sleep.

Sherlock nuzzled at his neck from behind him. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Aside from when you woke me up at 3am, you mean?" He grinned and Sherlock laughed. "Yes, very well."

"Mmm, good…" Sherlock grazed his lips on the soft skin underneath John's ear. "Mind doing something about this?" He pushed his hips forwards slightly, nudging his erection further into John's back.

"Not at all." He shifted his body backwards, relishing the sound Sherlock made. He reached for the bottle of lube that was sitting on the bedside table and pressed it into Sherlock's hand. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the bottle cap clicking open, and then closed again, and then Sherlock's leg was parting his thighs and a lube-slicked finger was pressing into him.

John arched, wincing momentarily at the slight burn in his muscles, but it soon passed, and the pain turned to pleasure as Sherlock slowly slid his finger further in and then withdrew it almost all the way out. John moaned softly, turning his head to seek out Sherlock's mouth. Their lips met as Sherlock added another finger and eliciting a groan from John, who pushed down on his fingers and rocked on them slowly.

"Oh God…" Sherlock said, removing his fingers and squeezing some more lube into his hand to slick up his cock. He discarded the bottle on the floor somewhere and slowly slid himself into John, barely managing to stifle the noise of sheer pleasure that erupted from somewhere deep within him.

"Oh you feel so good." John twisted again to kiss Sherlock, their lips meeting in a flurry of passion, teeth scraping and tongues twining. John was sure that he was going to develop a crick in his neck if they continued kissing at this angle, but Sherlock starting to roll his hips soon sent all rational thoughts scattering out of his head.

Sherlock placed a hand on John's hip and brought him up slightly, changing the angle and causing John to writhe underneath him at the added sensation of Sherlock hitting his prostate with every thrust.

"Fuck," Sherlock groaned, burying his face in John's neck.

John responded by rocking his hips back faster, making Sherlock match him and he had to stifle a cry of pleasure as Sherlock's hand closed around his cock and started up a quick rhythm.

"Yes, yes, yes," John hissed, feeling his climax start somewhere deep within him. "Sh-Sherlock." He leant further back against his lover, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Let go." Sherlock's voice was low and breathless and it was enough to drive John over the edge. The world went white and his whole body shuddered as he came with a cry of Sherlock's name.

After a few more thrusts, Sherlock followed, his shout only stifled by the fact that his face was still pressed into the nape of John's neck.

They lay there for a couple of minutes, breathing heavily into the silence, before John grew uncomfortable and reached for some tissues, groaning quietly as Sherlock slid out of him. He chucked a handful of tissues at Sherlock and cleaned himself up, before putting them all into the bin. He collapsed back onto the bed, smiling at the feel of Sherlock's arms wrapping around him.

"We should probably get up…" said John.

"Yeah probably."

Neither of them made any effort to move until they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a knock at their bedroom door.

"Just a minute," John called, hastily pulling on his pyjama bottoms and throwing Sherlock's to him.

Sherlock remained sprawled out in the bed and John opened the door.

"Oh, Greg. What do you want?" He sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"To talk to you both…" Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. "Listen, I know your relationship is new and everything but…"

"The walls in this house are really quite thin?" Sherlock offered.

"Well, yes. Listen, guys, I know you're adults and all but…are you being safe?"

John turned a frankly alarming shade of red. "Greg, I-"

"Lestrade, need I remind you that John's a doctor? We're clean," said Sherlock.

"I know, I'm not saying…when was the last time you were tested?" Lestrade was gradually turning a similar shade of red to John the longer the conversation continued.

"About two months ago, and there hasn't been anyone else in between," John muttered.

"You tested me for everything imaginable when you found me in that gutter." Sherlock was still lying on the bed, his eyes closed and hair sticking up all over the place.

"Sherlock, that was five years ago!" exclaimed Lestrade.

"Yeeeeees…" Sherlock drawled.

"Anything could have happened since then. You really should-"

Sherlock held up a hand to cut him off. "I can't believe I'm about to say this but I was a virgin before John. I'm pretty sure that I'm fine."

Lestrade dithered on the spot for a moment, visibly shocked. "Oh, right, okay."

John stood up, desperately trying to think of a way to diffuse the current awkward situation. "We appreciate your concern, Greg, but really, we're fine."

Lestrade nodded and hastily left the room.

John turned to his lover and said, "Well that went swimmingly." Sherlock merely grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

4. In which Sherlock and John share the sofa

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing over there?" Lestrade had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the sound of the television, the kettle boiling, and Sherlock's furious typing.

"Working," came the somewhat haughty reply. "That's why we're here, isn't it? Or has our job now changed to sitting in front of the telly watching repeats of Top Gear and gorging on Chinese take-out?"

"You're entitled to a break, Sherlock. You've been working all day and you haven't found anything so will you please stop working, close down the laptop and come and sit with the rest of us?"

"It's hardly 'the rest of us' if half the team are upstairs," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Alright, ladies, calm it down," said John, emerging from the kitchen with a fresh mug of tea.

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly but did as Lestrade had asked and closed his laptop, before joining John on the sofa. He laid down with his head in John's lap and his feet dangling off the edge of the sofa. Donovan rolled her eyes and Sherlock glared at her. He could have mentioned the fact that the reason Anderson was ignoring her was because he was attempting to patch things up with his wife, but Sherlock chose not to as he sensed it would probably only make matters worse for himself and John. Speaking of John…he seemed relatively happy to just sit there and absently play with Sherlock's hair whilst half watching the television, which Sherlock was absolutely not going to complain about. It had taken only two days after he and John had first gotten together for them both to realise that it relaxed Sherlock completely when John played with his hair. John used that knowledge to his advantage, pulling Sherlock into his lap and running his fingers softly through Sherlock's messy curls whenever he knew that his partner was stressed out after a case. It worked every time.

After about half an hour of Sherlock lying in John's lap, he became uncomfortable, and so sat up and forced John to lie down so that he could instantly drape himself over his lover, his head resting on John's shoulder. John's hands found their usual place loosely wrapped around Sherlock's waist, but still held him tight enough to offer comfort. They both seemed unaware of the stares they were attracting from Anderson and Donovan.

After a few more minutes, Sherlock shifted slightly so that his face was level with John's. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against his lover's so lightly John wondered if their lips were even touching. But then Sherlock was kissing him a little harder, but still gently, and John was taken aback by how tender he was being. John moved his hand to cup Sherlock's jaw, encouraging him to move closer. Sherlock complied, one hand coming to rest behind John's head as he drew back from the kiss to sweep his lips over the hollow of John's throat.

"I love you," Sherlock murmured, moving back up and pressing their foreheads together.

John smiled. "I love you too." His hands ran up Sherlock's back to tangle into his hair as he pulled him down for another tender kiss.

"Jesus," Donovan muttered, completely distracted by the two of them.

Anderson snorted in agreement. "Sickening, isn't it?"

"Oh shut up you two," said Lestrade. "Leave them alone; they're happy."

Anderson and Donovan both folded their arms across their chests, looking every inch like petulant children, but stayed silent.


	5. Chapter 5

5. In which John has a nightmare

Lestrade woke up to the sound of shouting and groaned quietly. _Not again_, he thought to himself, pulling the duvet up over his head in an attempt to drown out the noise. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. It took him worryingly longer than usual to realise that the shouts he was hearing were not of those one would usually make in the throes of passion. Instead, they sounded pained, even agonised. He sat bolt upright, brain now working in overdrive; the noises were definitely coming from Sherlock and John's room, they definitely weren't noises of pleasure…What the hell was happening?

Lestrade scrambled to his feet and flung open the door, stumbling out of his room into the darkness of the hallway and then barging into Sherlock and John's room to see what all the commotion was. He was met with a sight that he had never expected to see. Sherlock and John's bed was an absolute mess; the pillows and duvet were practically on the floor, and the sheets were bunched up in the centre, tangled up with what looked like three socks, a t-shirt, and Sherlock's blue dressing gown. John was lying in the middle of the bed facing away from the door, his bare back gleaming with beads of sweat, and a string of distressed shouts spilling out of his mouth. Greg's gaze was momentarily drawn to the star-shaped cluster of knotted scar tissue on John's shoulder, but then was distracted by the image of Sherlock kneeling over him, desperately shaking him.

Sherlock looked up and said, "Lestrade," before his attention was captivated by another shout from his lover.

"What's-?" Lestrade began, but Sherlock cut him off.

"PTSD. He gets nightmares, flashbacks sometimes." Sherlock drew back from John as he began to writhe around, and Lestrade was immensely grateful that they were both half-dressed. "I can't get him to wake up," Sherlock said, and Lestrade pretended not to notice the way his voice trembled. But then Sherlock looked up again and his normal unwavering, ice-cold stare was replaced with a look of pure anguish and Lestrade felt his chest begin to ache.

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but John jolted awake with a gasp, his breathing harsh and ragged.

"John?" Sherlock asked tentatively, his voice low, quiet and heartbreakingly soft.

"Jesus," John groaned as the room and Sherlock and Lestrade's anxious faces came swimming into focus. He forced himself to sit up, his head throbbing and shoulder aching. He was dimly aware of Sherlock wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly before he felt himself crumble and his body was wracked with sobs.

Sherlock met Lestrade's gaze again, agony in his eyes and an uncharacteristic dampness on his cheeks. It was in that moment that Lestrade realised that Sherlock was absolutely and completely hopelessly in love with John. Once again, he opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Donovan knocking on the still-open door and entering.

"Not now, Sally," Lestrade said.

"I brought him water," Donovan replied, holding a glass out for Sherlock, who took it and murmured a grateful 'thank you'. Donovan nodded and said, "Make sure he drinks it," before taking her leave.

Lestrade heard her talking quietly with Anderson outside the room and shut the bedroom door.

"John, here, have some water," Sherlock said, gently tipping John's head back and helping him take a couple of sips. Slowly, John began to calm down and his sobs subsided until he was breathing deeply, his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Are you okay, mate?" Lestrade asked cautiously.

John gulped and nodded. "Yeah," he croaked out. "Sorry I woke you."

Lestrade padded softly over to the edge of the bed and rested a hand on John's good shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'll see you both in the morning." With that, he left them, closing the door with a quiet click.

Once he had left, Sherlock laid John back down in the bed and pulled the duvet up over him.

"Sher-" John began, but Sherlock pressed his fingers over John's lips.

"Ssh, close your eyes." He lay down beside him, curling his body around John's shorter one. "Go back to sleep. I'm right here." His head rested on the nape of John's neck while one hand ran up and down his side. Eventually, John's eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted back to sleep with the warm, solid weight of Sherlock behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

6. In which Sherlock and John spend all day in bed

It was just one of those days. One of those days where once, twice, three times was not enough; would never be enough. The urge to absolutely devour each other was frankly overwhelming.

It had all started when Sherlock had woken John up with those deliciously plump lips wrapped around his cock, and John couldn't think of any other way he would prefer to be woken up than by that truly excellent blowjob. They went downstairs for breakfast, but quickly realised that it was pointless and so returned to their bedroom, which resulted in John repaying Sherlock for his earlier favour.

After an hour of lying tangled in each other's arms, Sherlock found himself kissing and sucking at John's neck once again, which thankfully got the desired response. John grinned as he rolled on top of Sherlock, hot lips marking dark purple love bites into his marble white neck. Sherlock moaned luxuriously, trailing his nails lightly up John's back and rolling his hips slightly. John pushed down against him, his rapidly hardening cock sliding against Sherlock's. Their lips met again, demanding and insistent, their tongues dancing around each other, warm and wet and deliciously sweet. Their kisses turned urgent as they clutched at each other, their breathing becoming ragged with desire. John pulled away from a moment to grab the bottle of lube, and Sherlock whimpered at the sudden lack of contact. Then John was back again and was trailing kisses down Sherlock's neck while a lube-slicked finger pressed slowly into him. Sherlock's head fell back and a moan of pleasure escaped his lips as his body welcomed John back into him. John began to slide his finger in and out, watching his lover's face intently, at the way his full lips parted, and the way his eyes fluttered closed and then opened sharply as he added another finger.

"Fuck!" Sherlock cried out as John scissored and twisted his fingers inside him, stretching him further, and Sherlock began to rock his hips, fucking himself on John's fingers. Within a few minutes he was gasping for breath and clutching at John's hair, and John was sure he'd never been so hard in his entire life. With a quick nip at the inside of Sherlock's thighs, John he withdrew his fingers and crawled back up to claim Sherlock's lips again. The taller man tugged desperately at his hair and wrapped a leg around his waist and John groaned and quickly slicked himself up, then pushed into him in one smooth thrust. Sherlock's back arched upwards, his hips bucking as John started up a punishing rhythm, their bodies pressed flush against each other, Sherlock's cock trapped between them and leaking precome onto his stomach.

Sherlock groaned and sighed and gasped in pleasure, and John reluctantly kissed him to quieten him; they didn't need Lestrade or anyone else walking in now, and Sherlock really could be exceptionally loud sometimes. John sucked on his lower lip, rocking his hips faster and angling upwards, his breath coming in short, sharp pants now. Sherlock cried out, the sound muffled against John's mouth.

"Is that it? Is that the spot?" John managed to gasp out, his own climax fast approaching.

Sherlock could only nod, dragging John back down to his mouth again. John kissed him back, his teeth scraping against Sherlock's lips, and he moved one hand down to grasp Sherlock's cock firmly in his hand. Sherlock writhed and bucked his hips, right on the edge but not quite able to fall over, desperate to come. John tugged lightly at him, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, feeling precome pooling in his hand. Sherlock jerked at his touch, pulling away from his lips to cry out. It was all too much, but at the same time, not enough. Sherlock was drowning in the sensations John was provoking in his body, unable to focus on anything but the feel of John and almost completely unaware of the sounds that were being wrung out of him.

With one final, deep thrust and a tight squeeze on his cock, Sherlock's vision went white as he came hard, coating John's hand and his own stomach. John followed him a few seconds later, Sherlock's name on his lips as he shuddered and spilt into his lover. Sherlock moaned at the feel of it, rapidly becoming oversensitive to any sort of touch at all. John slid out of him, collapsing onto his back on the bed, one arm covering his eyes as he reached blindly for a handful of tissues, quickly cleaning himself up and then handing them to Sherlock.

Once they were both cleaned up and the tissues were disposed of, Sherlock rolled onto his side, stroking the side of John's face lightly as their breathing slowly returned to normal. Sherlock inhaled deeply, smelling sex, sweat, and the slightly clinical scent of the lube they had used.

"We need to shower…" John muttered, pressing his face into Sherlock's chest.

"I think we both know that there's no point in that," replied Sherlock, wrapping an arm slackly round his waist.

"Are we going to shag like rabbits all day?"

"If you feel that way inclined."

John grinned. "Give me a while. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"No rush. We've got all day."


	7. Chapter 7

7. In which Lestrade gets a surprise

Mycroft Holmes was not a man who made rash decisions. Every time he was faced with a problem he would carefully consider both sides of the situation, before coming to a well-rounded and perfectly reasonable conclusion. Nevertheless, he felt that there was something decidedly reckless about this decision. His heart pounded inside his chest, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Mycroft realised what everyone meant when they said they had butterflies in their tummy.

He approached the door to the house, noting the peeling paint, and knocked three times on the slowly splintering wood. The door opened to reveal Greg Lestrade standing in the doorway wearing dark blue jeans, a plain white shirt and a few days' worth of stubble.

"Mycroft," he said, startled.

"Hello, Greg." Mycroft allowed him a brief smile.

"Sherlock's umm, upstairs right now. I'm not entirely sure what he's doing but…" Lestrade trailed off at Mycroft waving a hand dismissively.

"I'm not here to see my brother," he replied.

"Oh. Umm." A faint blush crept up Lestrade's neck and onto his cheeks. "No one else knows, Mycroft. That's the thing. It's not that I'm not happy to see you or anything, because I am. I mean, I really, really am. But…"

"Sitting in the same room with you will be more than satisfactory." With that, Mycroft brushed past Lestrade, his fingers lingering on his arm for a moment, and then entered the living room.

Lestrade rubbed his temples slowly then shut the front door. Two Holmes' in one house could be a problem.

* * *

Sherlock and John eventually dragged themselves out of bed at about half past eleven in the morning. Sherlock froze in the doorway to the living room the second he saw his brother.

"Mycroft," he said, his expression stony. "To what do we owe this dubious pleasure?"

Mycroft looked up at the younger man and placed his almost empty mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him. "Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock, I am not, in fact, spying on you. I'm merely paying you all a visit."

"'Us all' being myself, John and Lestrade, given that you've never actually spoken to any of the other police officers here. Convenient that they're all out, isn't it?" He focused his sharp gaze on Lestrade.

"Completely coincidental, brother," Mycroft said, an alarming smile causing the corners of his mouth to quirk upwards.

"Nothing is coincidental with you, Mycroft." He sat down on the armchair, and tried to conceal the wince he made at the familiar twinge of pain. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"How is the case going?" Mycroft asked politely, addressing his question to Lestrade.

"Oh, yeah, fine. It's going fine. Should be able to go home soon."

Sherlock snorted as John sat down beside him on the sofa.

"What?" John asked.

"Get to your point, Mycroft. I'm sure Lestrade looks great lying in your ridiculously oversized bed, doesn't he?"

Lestrade spluttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "How the hell did you…" before he realised that this was Sherlock he was talking to.

John was looking between Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade, an expression of absolute shock on his face.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. "By my calculations, you've got about forty-five minutes until the rest of the team get back. Well, forty-four minutes now."

Mycroft and Lestrade both stood up and left the room, hands joined, Lestrade looking significantly more uncomfortable than the other.

"So…" John said after a while.

"I'd really rather not think about the sex lives of Mycroft and Lestrade separately, let alone together," replied Sherlock.

John barely managed to supress a giggle. "As long as they're happy, that's all the matters, right?"

"Ugh," Sherlock groaned. "How dull. Mind you, if they stay together, family reunions will be a barrel of laughs."

At that remark, John lost it, and they were both soon breathless from hysterical laughter.


	8. Chapter 8

8. In which Sherlock surprises everyone

Two days after Mycroft's visit found the team gathered in the dining room pondering what to do about dinner. So far, they had survived off of take-away, frozen pizza, and Sally Donovan taking pity on everyone else and cooking a curry. At present, one of the other police officers, Thompson, was trying to convince Donovan to cook for them again, but earned a death glare from her when he suggested that his reasoning for her cooking was that she was a woman. After ten minutes of bickering and general indecision, Sherlock shocked everyone with an announcement.

"I'll cook dinner."

His outburst silenced the room immediately, and everyone stared at him.

"You?" Lestrade said eventually.

"Yeees…" enunciated Sherlock slowly.

"The Freak cooks?" Sally's question was addressed to John, who nodded.

"Very occasionally. Okay, Sherlock, you can cook. Everyone else, I'll supervise him."

The look of shock on their faces increased even more when Sherlock said, "Come on John, we need to go to the supermarket."

John supressed a grin as he and Sherlock grabbed their coats and stepped outside.

* * *

They took a little longer than anticipated in the supermarket due to Sherlock's predilection for looking at various medical supplies and attempting to convince John that he needed everything for some exceptionally vital experiment. John was having none of it, and quickly replaced all the extra items that they didn't need, although he did make an exception for the bottle of raspberry flavoured lubricant that Sherlock had somehow managed to sneak into the shopping basket without John noticing it. They shared a quick glance at the checkout, a blush rising on John's cheeks as Sherlock slipped his hand from John's waist to give his arse a playful squeeze. John was inwardly glad that the girl on the till didn't say anything.

By the time they arrived back at the stake-out house, it was half past six and the sun was beginning to set, casting the world into shadow. John quickly went upstairs and stashed their new purchase under the pillows, before joining Sherlock in the kitchen. He had known what Sherlock was going to cook even before they had bought the ingredients, but it was always a nice surprise to see Sherlock with his sleeves rolled up and thoroughly engrossed in chopping tomatoes and mushrooms, while a saucepan of water boiled on the stove.

John shrugged out of his jacket and tried to ignore the way Sherlock's shirt was pulled taut over the defined muscles of his back. Watching someone cook should not be so arousing, he silently reminded himself. He busied himself by helping Sherlock prepare some of the food, and then stepped back to watch him work for a while, no longer able to stop himself from admiring his lover's body.

"Smells good," Lestrade said, wandering aimlessly into the kitchen. "Shall I lay the table?"

Sherlock nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration, and John smiled fondly. Lestrade set about gathering placemats, plates, and knives and forks. One by one, the Yarders came into the kitchen to sort out their drinks, some of them hiding their interest in Sherlock's hitherto unseen cooking abilities more effectively than others.

Sherlock carried the recently drained saucepan of spaghetti into the dining room and placed it on a mat in the centre of the table. John followed with the cooking pot of mincemeat, tomato puree, sauce and mushrooms and a bottle of wine.

"I assure you, it's not poisoned," Sherlock said as he took his seat.

"It's not, I was there the whole time," added John.

Lestrade shrugged and dished himself up some spaghetti and mincemeat. John mimicked his actions once he was done, putting food onto both his own and Sherlock's plates.

Lestrade began to eat and sounded genuinely surprised when he said, "Sherlock, this is actually really good."

At that, the other Yarders plated up their own food and tucked in eagerly. John poured himself, Sherlock and Sally Donovan a glass of red wine and tried not to think about how the colour of the deep crimson liquid looked like blood against Sherlock's lips.

Everyone else seemed to echo Lestrade's sentiments that Sherlock was actually a rather good cook. He responded with a modest, "It's just chemistry."

"I suppose it's about time that you became house-trained," said Sally, but there was a distinct lack of harshness in her voice this time. She was rewarded with one of Sherlock's rare, genuine smiles.

By the time all of the food was gone, a lot of the tension that had been in the house had disappeared. John was happy that the Yarders were treating Sherlock less like a freak and more like a normal human being. Apparently, proving that Sherlock could cook had raised everyone's opinions of him. Underneath the table, Sherlock's left hand rested on John's right thigh. John smiled, taking a sip of his wine and resting his hand on top of Sherlock's.

"It's your turn to wash up, Thompson," Lestrade said, collecting some of the plates together and standing up. Thompson sighed pointedly, but said nothing and went into the kitchen to run the hot water.

Sherlock and John migrated towards the living room and the sofa, which had been generally accepted as theirs. Sherlock lay down with his head in John's lap, sighing happily as John played absently with his hair.

"I'm tired," Sherlock murmured, his voice muffled against John's lap.

"Have a quick nap then. I'll wake you up in a bit."

"Okay," agreed Sherlock, humming in pleasure as John re-commenced stroking his hair.

By the time the washing up was done and everyone else had joined them in the living room, Sherlock was fast asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

9. In which Sherlock surprises John

The end of the case was so close now it could almost be tasted in the air. The atmosphere in the stake-out house had rapidly escalated back into sheer tension as soon as everyone realised how close to the end of the case they were. The pressure to solve it was well and truly on, and in only a few more days it would be over, and they could all go back home.

John lay in bed with his head on Sherlock's chest, dozing lightly despite the bedside light being on so that Sherlock could read. John shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's sternum. "What are you reading?"

"One thousand types of natural poison," Sherlock replied.

"Sounds…exhilarating."

Sherlock smiled at the sarcasm in his lover's voice. "I can stop reading and turn the light off if you want to sleep."

"No, it's okay. I slept through gunfire in Afghanistan; a little light isn't going to bother me."

Nevertheless, Sherlock closed his book and put it to one side. He slid down into the bed and turned on his side so that he was facing John. Brushing a thumb lightly along the sharp line of Sherlock's cheek bone, John was struck by the tenderness in the other man's eyes.

"What is it?" John whispered, his hand now resting at the place where Sherlock's neck joined his shoulder.

"Nothing, I just love you," Sherlock replied simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

John smiled. "I love you too." Truth be told, he was a little confused as to Sherlock's sudden display of emotions, but he wasn't going to complain about it. It went without saying that Sherlock loved him; John didn't need to hear him say it every single day to believe it, but it was still nice for Sherlock to offer it every now and again without John having said it first.

Sherlock moved closer to him those emotion-filled eyes flicking back and forth from John's eyes to his mouth, back to his eyes, now to his mouth again. John chuckled lightly and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. He was warm and pliant under John's mouth, and tasted vaguely of mint toothpaste. Sherlock sucked John's lower lip into his mouth, making him moan quietly, and dammit, when had Sherlock gotten quite so good at kissing? They had only been together for a few weeks, but their sex life had progressed from very good to absolutely fantastic very quickly, and it had only been about four days into their relationship when John had accidentally blurted out those three, meaningful words. For one terrifying second, John had thought that he had ruined everything before it had even really begun, but then had grinned and said, "I love you too," and had proceeded to kiss any more doubts completely out of John's head.

"John," Sherlock said quietly, bringing John back to the present day as he pulled away from his lips, but kept their bodies close together.

"Hm?" Sherlock sat up and John mimicked him. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Listen, I know this is going to sound crazy…"

John raised an eyebrow. "Coming from you, that's really not saying much."

Sherlock smiled briefly, and then continued. "These few weeks have honestly been the best few of my life, and I know that this might be a bit too soon, okay, far too soon, but…" He trailed off, his breathing shaky and apparently unable to find the right words. "Oh God, I'm truly terrible at stuff like this." He leant forward and kissed John lightly on the lips again. "Just, oh, Christ…Marry me?"

John's jaw dropped in what he was sure was an exceptionally unattractive way. "Are you serious?"

Sherlock nodded. "I love you, John. I can't imagine life without you. I want to tie myself to you forever and show the world that you are mine and I am yours; that we are together, and that we always will be and-"

John silenced him with a forceful kiss, one hand cupping his jaw and the other resting at the nape of his neck, their lips crushed together, sweet and passionate, and it left them both gasping for air when they eventually parted.

"Of course I will marry you, you daft bastard," John said, tugging him closer for another kiss.

Sherlock drew back, his face breaking into an exuberant smile, and then beginning to laugh as he fell back onto the bed, pulling John on top of him. They tangled their legs together, hands clutching at each other as they laughed, kissed, laughed again, stripped each other of their clothes and made love, deliriously happy, coming apart in each other's arms and then lying in a dreamlike haze. They both fell asleep with the bedside light still switched on.

* * *

When Lestrade eventually dragged himself downstairs in the morning, he was met with a living room full of police officers, who all looked equal parts exhausted and annoyed.

"Morning," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Hmph," Anderson responded, following Lestrade as he made his way into the kitchen. "I heard a lot of laughter last night."

Lestrade busied himself by shoving some bread unceremoniously into the toaster. "I heard a lot of sex last night," he grumbled. "It's half eleven in the morning, what the hell are they still doing up there?"

Right on cue, his phone chimed with a new text message. Lestrade pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the message.

_Celebrating our recent engagement by shagging each other blind – SH_

Lestrade's eyes widened in shock, but he was quickly distracted by his phone chiming again.

_Please do not disturb – JW_

Lestrade smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

10. In which Sherlock and John have a shower

"Drug traffickers caught, justice restored to the world, case closed," Lestrade said as the team arrived back at the Stake-Out House for what they all hoped would be the last time. "Good work everyone."

"I am glad that's over," Donovan muttered as she hung up her coat.

"I think we all are," replied Lestrade. "Okay, an hour and a half to get everything packed and then we can go home."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

"I'm having a shower," Sherlock announced, glancing down at his muddied clothes; the result of chasing the ring leader of the drug traffickers through a road of dirty puddles.

"Good idea," Lestrade said. "Because you're not getting in a taxi looking like that."

Sherlock gave him a brief glare, then turned on his heel and left the room with John following shortly behind him.

Sherlock reached the bathroom and grabbed John by the arm, "And when I say that I'm having a shower, what I mean is that we're having a shower."

John grinned as Sherlock dragged him into the bathroom and shoved him up against the door. Long, tapered fingers slid up under John's shirt, peeling it away from his sweat-drenched skin and over his head. Their lips met in a hot kiss and in a matter of seconds Sherlock's tongue was flicking at the entrance to John's mouth, begging for entry. John parted his lips, sucking Sherlock's tongue into his mouth and earning a groan of pleasure from his lover.

Sherlock toed off his shoes as John began to unbutton his shirt, practically ripping it from his shoulders in his eagerness. Sherlock lowered his head to kiss and suck his way down John's neck, his right hand moving to palm John's cock through his jeans.

"Turn the shower on," John managed to say, his breathing ragged with desire.

Sherlock obliged, and soon the room was filled with spiralling tendrils of steam, fogging up the mirror and turning the walls damp. They both stripped the remainder of their clothes and got into the shower, which was thankfully just about big enough for the two of them. The water was deliciously hot, cascading down their bodies as their lips met again. John pinned Sherlock up against the cold tiles and dropped to his knees, grazing the sensitive skin of Sherlock's hip with his teeth. He chanced a glance upwards, seeing Sherlock staring back down at him, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown impossibly wide with arousal. Maintaining the eye contact in a way he knew would make Sherlock squirm with lust, John leant forwards and took the tip of Sherlock's erection into his mouth.

"Fuck!" Sherlock's eyes closed as his back arched off of the tiles.

John placed a steadying hand on his hips and swirled his tongue around the head of Sherlock's cock, knowing that it would drive him mad. Just as he predicted, Sherlock manoeuvred John back up to kiss him, and the taste of himself on John's lips made him groan out loud.

"I thought you would want me to suck you off," John murmured between kisses.

Sherlock's reply came from right next to John's ear. "You're going to be a tease about it, so we're going to do it this way instead." He ran a hand down John's torso and wrapped his fingers around both of their aching cocks. This was not going to take long at all.

John knew, unfortunately from experience, that trying to get off in the shower without any form of lubricant would end in tears, but Sherlock leaked precome like no man John had ever been with, and it made everything just that little bit easier. Sherlock's hand moved effortlessly over them both, spreading the slickness between them and making John's toes curl. He leant forwards, lavishing the hollow of Sherlock's throat with his tongue while Sherlock's hand sped up between them.

"Oh God, Sherlock," John groaned, his face pressed against Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm gonna…" His whole body shuddered and shook as he came, his vision momentarily going white as he spilt himself over Sherlock's hand. Sherlock stroked him through it, until he followed a few seconds later, his fingers digging into John's back painfully hard.

When John came back to himself, it was to find Sherlock leaning limply against the tiled wall, his eyes closed and breathing deep.

"You alright?" John muttered, redirecting the shower spray to wash away the mess they had made.

"Mmm," replied Sherlock. He pressed a kiss to John's forehead and reached for the shampoo.

"God we're like overly-hormonal teenagers." John took the shampoo off him and washed his hair quickly, before lathering himself up with shower gel.

"I find it doesn't bother me too much," Sherlock said with a smile.

Once they were both finished, they reluctantly stepped out of the shower and dried off.

Lestrade banged on the bathroom door. "Oi, Sherlock, I really don't want to ask this, but is John in there with you?"

"Of course he is," Sherlock replied.

"I'm not going to ask what you're doing-"

"If you had half a brain you could figure it out."

"- but can you please hurry up because we're going to be late."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, who was busy sucking love-bites into Sherlock's neck. "The quicker we get home, the quicker we can continue."

"I don't know about you, but I'm planning on continuing in the taxi," John smirked.

Sherlock laughed.


End file.
